A Child's Tale
by Wannabe X-man
Summary: One Day in the life of a child pick pocket. Why Remy has always loved and respected all women, even the Whores. Warning: language, crude but I think realistic!


A Child's Tale

He woke up in pain, oh Mon Dieu, such pain. Searing, throbbing desperate pain bleeding crimson threw his dirty torn shirt turning the light gray fabric dark and sticky. He touched it and held in a cry as he almost blacked out. Calm down, don't panic, the cut was long and deep but at least it wasn't a stab wound, thank Jesus and all the angels for that. He hastily whipped the tears from his eyes and dirt smudged cheeks and tried to piece together what had happen.

Remy was in an ally way, no big surprise there, stuffed between two trash cans like a gutter rat. He shivered and closed his blurring eyes as the aching in his head began to set in and the sky let loose the first few drops of a soon to be heavy ran. He had been out all day, working the crowded streets, keeping an eye out for the fat, happy tourists with wallets bursting with fresh green cash they intended to spend on frivolous trinkets like baby gator heads and plastic beads from the gift shops on Bourbon street blasting Zeydeco. After a days worth of successful pinches courtesy of the mindless sheep that roomed his home town, he was ready to go swing by his secret hiding spot where he put away a small chunk of cash every chance he got saving up for that day he could run away and never look back at this life or the scum sucking filth that terrorized him day and night. He'd then head back home, although Remy didn't like to think of it as that because to him, the word home meant something else, some idealized dream he couldn't quite imagine but knew all the same. But for now, Fagan's flop house, as decrepit as it was and as crowded as it was what with Fagan's pension for late night poker games, drunken brawls and sexual escapades with the neighborhood whores, was still in it's way a home of sorts.

Each boy in Fagan's gang, the oldest being 12 and Remy as the youngest at 8, had to pay their dues to the head thief to cover room and board as well as for food and clothing, though in reality most nights they had nothing but stale bread and the dregs of flat, watered down wine which they drank eagerly as they passed cigarettes back and forth, telling tall tales of the day's adventures and playing cards or shooting dice. They were a raged bunch of young hellions, loyal only to themselves but desperate for companionship among their peers and after a long day scrounging and hustling on the streets, it was almost a relief to return to their hangout, a reasonably safer place then the streets at night time. Remy was accepted by the other boys but not embraced entirely. Children can be cruel, and no one knew that better then he, the devil's son, with eye's of a demon. They never let him forget that he was different, or missed a chance to remind him of his hell fire eyes. Remy, in turn tried to ignore them or just laugh with them, though inside he wanted to cry. But crying was for babies, and a sign of weakness to be exploited.

But tonight, Remy could not hid his tears. He reached up and felt a bump the size of an egg on the back of his head. They had jumped him, those bastards, those cowards. He knew they were there before he saw them. Five gangly teen aged thugs who called them selves the Bourbon Street Boys and acted like they were some kind of street royalty, at least amongst the younger kids, came out of the shadows and surrounded their prey. He had immediately surveyed his surroundings in search of an easy exit, but found the only way was strait back out of the ally or strait forward, both of which were blocked by smirking teens that had a lust for violence in their cold, dead eyes.

He'd tried to fight, braking a glass bottle over one boy's head and stabbing it at another's eye but he blocked it and his hand was cut instead. The boys beat on him demanding he give them his money, Remy refused. The leader of the bunch held him by the throat and warned him to give it up or they would search his pockets after he was dead. As an answer Remy spit in the boy's face and kicked him in his groin, scampering to his feet and ready to make a run for it but in vain. He had no time to duck before a brick crashed into the back of his head, turning his vision red. He fell to the ground and lost consciousness just as he felt the piercing pain of a blade in his side.

Remy tried to stand but couldn't, the pain was only a dull throbbing but he was dizzy and felt sick. He crawled out from between the trash cans and threw up twice before attempting once more to stand. He made it to his feet leaning heavily against the brick wall for support. As he walked the pain became alive and screamed in protest at every movement. Remy let out a stifled cry and looked up to the cloud covered sky, rain drops mixing with the tears on his cheeks. Threw his long stringy wet bangs he gazed pleadingly at the sky and collapsed to his knees.

"Si vous Plaite!, Mon Deuie, let Remy die………. an' join you in de kingdom of heaven. Please God!...Please send Remy an angel to carry him away!...Remy knows he ain't worth de trouble,…….knows he has demon's eyes an' a sinful soul,…….but please, PLEASE!... Take…..me…..away……please…..plea….." Remy fell on his side shivering as the pain washed over him carrying him back into oblivion. Just before he lost consciousness, he saw threw tear blurred eyes two figures approaching in the dim light of the neon signs out in the streets.

"Girl,…….dat man was sooo cheap, he wanted me tah suck his dick in de bathroom at Wendy's."

"Sleazy ass motha' fucka'!"

"I was like, damn you cheep ass son of a bitch, don't got no car an' won't even pay fo no hour motel room!"

"Broke ass bastard!"

"But den,……When wezze get dere, he order em' self a chicken san'wich and he wanna eat it while I get em' off!"

"Perverted ass son of a bitch!"

"I was like,……hey…..what dat be?" Both hookers stopped and looked at the crumpled up form in the ally way.

"Motha a God almighty!….is dat a kid?" They hobbled forward on their six inch platform heels, the one who called her self Godiva squatted down next to the small life form, exposing all in her tight red miny skirt. She turned over the fragile body and lifted it into her arms.

"Damn girl, it's a little boy,……poor chil's only a baby!"

"Ay, careful wit dat, looks like some asshole motha fuckas' don worked em' over and made em bleed." Rose crouched down and pointed at the blood stain growing on his shirt. Godiva lifted it up and they gasped at the wide gash. "Shit!...What we gonna do?"

"Damn girl, we gotta get de baby to a doctor,….wait, I know dis angel!…….Oh no,……Remy,……oh baby." Godiva sobbed cradling the child in her arms.

"How you know em?"

"He one of Fagin's boys, but he ain't like de rest of dem snot noise brats,…..always calling me mame and telling me I look nice." She scooped the unconscious child into her arms and stood up headed back out into the streets.

"Where we gonna take em?"

"Girl, what de hell wrong wit you?...We gonna bring em tah Fagan an he gonna call de boy a doctor."

"You know I hate dat sleazy ass greasy bastard and all dem drunk bums he call his amies!...Don't know why de guild's let em' any wheres near children!" Rose huffed as they turned the corner, shuffling their hooker heals at a slightly more urgent pace.

"Cuz' dese kids gonna be on de street any ways so dey better off learning a skill, else dey gonna end up suckin dick at Wendy's like us." The two ladies sighed and headed toward the Flop house cursing Fagan's name all the way and the ruthless bastards that saw fit to slice up a little boy. As they neared the flop house Godiva looked down startled at the young boy who began to stir and whimper in her arms.

Remy looked up at the face carrying him, trying to see threw squinted eyes as rain fell on his face. His red and black eyes locked with her chocolate brown and he let out a small cry between his trembling lips.

"Is…..you…… an… angel?" He asked pleadingly, his exhaustion not conquering his hope. Godiva had stopped and looked down, her eyes shinning with tears as eye liner smeared down her dark brown cheeks painted heavily with rouge. Her gaped, crooked teeth were hidden by a wide cherry lipped smile and the teased out blond wig she wore looked almost heavenly in the street light.

"Naw baby, just a worn out working girl trying tah turn me some tricks and finding a little boy in need of a doctor." She smiled her broken grin at the half conscious child.

"Godiva?...Dat….you…..chere?" Remy strained his eyes to see her face reaching up to touch her but stopping in pain when the stinging in his side renewed. He grimaced and curled up in her arms.

"Why sure is chil', not exactly an angel I know but it will have tah do." She smiled and continued walking, Rose close behind.

Fagin was drunk as always watching a boxing match on the fuzzy, stolen T.V, banging his hand on the top as the picture flickered and rolled to the top of the screen over and over again. He sat in a worn out, ragged arm chair, the springs broken, the crushed green velvet chair stained in dirt. All around him on the floor sat a drowsy heard of child pick pockets, mumbling angrily as they drank down the luke warm watered down soup served for dinner.

"Common!...Hit him ya pussy!...I swear tah god!...Mon Deiu,……de man hit's like a bitch!...I got 500 riding on dis fucking fight!" Fagan grumbled as he swigged the bottle of whisky glued to his hand. The boys looked up at there mentor with side ways glances and hateful glares.

"You mean tah tell me dat we eating,….dis, dis shit ass watered down nothing soup an you just put 500 on a stupid fight?" One of the older boy's named Jean-Pere nearly shouted as he threw down his soup bowl.

"Yhea,……..ain't chicken soup s'pose tah have chicken in it?" A younger thief nick named Sticky Ricky complained as he looked despairingly at the gray broth dripping from his spoon.

"Why can' we get some real food eghn?...oh, wait, it's cause Fagan blows all de money WE pinch on BOOZE, WHORES AND GAMBLING!" Jean-Pere stood in anger, clutching a razor hidden in his right hand. The other boys all looked at him then at Fagan, prepared to jump to their feet, but unsure of what the next move would be. Fagan rose from his seat, long gray hair in a lose pony tale as greasy strains framed his twisted, scarred face and curtained his cold gray eyes. His hands were balled into fists but then rested on his thick, worn out leather belt the boy's referred to as "the leather."

"You challenging my 'thority boy?...Got somet'ing on yer min'?...I put a roof ova' yo' head and provided protection fo' yo' backside you pathetic little shit!...But step up if you t'ink yous a man?...Let me see what you made of you little fuckin' chicken shit, you street trash bastard!...I'll take de leatha' tah yo' ass den send you ova' tah de boys on Fagot's ally and dey'll fuck you like de bitch you are den pimp yo' ass fo' crystal meth!...You want dat you fucking brat?...Just step up!" Fagan's tone was low and dangerous, he had the gleam of bitter resentment and willful violence that made the children cower and hold their breaths. They knew that his threats were not empty, but real promises that had been carried out before on other, young rebellious lads that didn't have the good sense to shut their mouths.

The tension was thick as both males young and old stood as statues, eyes bleeding with hostility and anger, locked in a battle of wills. Before either one had time to act there was a loud banging at the door, followed by cursing.

"Who de hell?" Fagan drew his knife from his boot and walked toward the door, the argument forgotten at least for the moment. The boys all let out their breaths but stood up, prepared to run if the person at the door proved to be less then friendly. Fagan leaned against the door, knife in hand and called out in a gruff voice.

"Who be dere?" He twirled the knife in his hand and licked his lips.

"Fagan! You good fo' nothing, cock sucking Son of a Bitch!...Open up dis GOD Damn door right now or I'll stick my fuckin' heal up dat ass!" Godiva fumed outside as she held the child tight in her arms.

"Godiva?" Fagan questioned through the door.

"Yes it's fuckin' Lady Godiva, an ' I'm standing out here in de God Damn rain holdin' one of yo' boys as he bleeds all ova' my fur coat!...Now open up or I'll have my cousin put a hoodoo on yo' sorry ass!" She kicked the door again hard. Fagan looked around at the faces gathered, he counted 8 but he was never sure how many way ward youth he was supposedly responsible for.

"Any o' you missin?" He grunted at the boys who looked around.

"Qui, Le Diable Blanc ain't here!" One of the boys muttered, not terribly concerned one way or another. Fagan looked them over and nodded in agreement.

"Alright Bitch!...But if dis be a trick sos you and yo' whore amies can rip me off tah buy yo' crack, den I'll slit yo' fuckin throat my self!" He hissed angrily before unlocking the several chains and bolts ushering in the soaking ladies and one barely conscious youth. Godiva marched in like she owned the place, Rose close on her heels and immediately ordered the boys to fetch a blanket, cloth and some clean water, which they reluctantly did. She lay Remy gently on the filthy spring mattress in the corner of the room that Fagan clamed as his own. Remy was shivering and his shirt was soaked in his own blood. After bolting the door Fagan stomped over in annoyance to see what all the fuss was about. "Alright, what de hell de he get………..Holy mo'der a God!...What de fuck 'appened?" His shock was almost a form of compassion but quickly gave way to anger. He lifted up Remy's shirt none to gently and hissed. "For Fuck sakes Remy!...You know how much dis gonna coast me tah get you fixed up?...Swear tah god I'd be better off letting you bleed tah death all de trouble you cause me!"

"Tol' you he was notin' but a rotten rat bastard!" Rose commented to Godiva who took

the clean water and cloth, gingerly cleaning off the excess blood to better see the wound.

"Shit, what de hell happen tah him?"

"Jesus!...Look at all de blood!"

"10 bucks says he doesn't make it!"

"Naw, he's de fuckin devils son! 10 says he does and wit it a pack a smokes!" While

the boys began to bet on the fate of Remy's life Godiva and Rose were hollering at

Fagan to call a doctor.

"Listen to me you heartless son of a bitch!...Call de fuckin doctor or dis baby

gonna die,……..and you know Monsieur LeBeau gonna have yo' hide if he does!"

Godiva whispered the last as a quiet threat they both knew was true. After a long sigh and

mumbled curses, Fagan got on the phone to some people he knew and requested a

doctor.

"He be here soon……….Tell me what de hell happened engh?" Fagan's voice was still

gruff but held a degree of concern not commonly heard from the trainer of pick pockets.

"Don't know but it looks like he got worked over by some thugs." Rose spoke up,

stroking the wet strains of hair away from his bruised cheeks and half shut eyes. Remy

tried to stay awake and focus on where he was and what was happening.

"Hmmmngh, looks like dey clean out his pockets too……….What happened, ay

Remy?...Who done dis tah ya boy?" Fagan questioned as he pulled off Remy's shirt and

examined his bruises and wounds. Remy gasped at the pain and flinched at every touch,

eyes fixed on Fagan.

"De…..Bourbon….Street…….Boys………..Dey……dey…took…….de….money." His

breath was labored and his voice was choked with tears. The other boys kept their

distance but looked on at the scene with more curiosity then real concern.

"De Bourbon Street Boys?...Dose little punks!...Too lazy to do dere own work, gotta

ruff up de kiddies and take what's already been taken…….Lazy, good fer no'ting……."

"Aghhh…." Remy cried as Fagan put a little too much force behind his touch.

"Careful Fagan, you gonna hurt de boy worse!" Godiva scowled. Fagan glared back

then turned his attention to the other boys.

"Now listen up moi enfants!...If any of yah see dese rotten fucking t'ives around, you

keep yo' distance unless you got a blade on you which in dat case, slit de bastards

throat and give em' a good kick in his pride!" Fagan grabbed his crotch and nodded at

the boys, eyes blazing with intensity. "Jack,….toss me dat bottle dere!" A boy picked up

the whisky bottle and tossed it to Fagan who then turned back to Remy, who was

growing paler by the second, moaning in pain. "Alright boy,…..dis'll cure what ales

ya!...Now Godiva, hold em' still." She looked at him warily then pinned Remy's hands

to his sides. Before the boy could react Fagan straddled his legs and opened the bottle.

"Head up!" Rose lifted Remy's head and helped Fagan put the bottle to his lips.

"Go on now chil'…….nice an' easy, drink it slow." Rose cooed at Remy as he choked

down the harsh liquor, coughing as it spilt over his chin. "Ease up on em' Fagan, give de

boy time tah breath!" Fagan sneered but gave Remy a moment to catch his breath then

lowered the bottle once again.

"Non!...No more……Si te plait!" Remy tossed his head back and forth desperately

avoiding the bottle and the burning liquid it contained.

"Damnit Remy, hold the fuck still……Rose!" Fagan barked. Rose held his head steady as

Godiva kept his arms pinned.

"Calm down now baby!...It'll do you good. Make de pain hurt less." Godiva spoke

softly. Remy whimpered but held still and let them feed him more liquor, trying to

ignore the harsh bitter burn it left in his throat and mouth. Fagan grunted satisfied that

Remy was properly medicated, then went about treating the wound. He nodded at the

two women who tightened their grip, knowing what was coming next "Breath baby. Just

breath." Remy stared hazily threw silted eyes that grew wide as the red hot sting of

alcohol blazed into the open gash in his side. Fagan poured a decent amount of alcohol

right on the boy's bloody body causing him to scream out in pain.

"Ahhhhhgn,…..ahhhhh…….nooonnnn!...agh!" Remy contorted in their grips, eyes

begging for them to stop, tears raining down his cheeks. Fagan, finished the bottle

himself then threw it over his shoulder and staggered to his feet. Remy tried desperately

to hid his tears but found it futile. He buried his face against Rose, wept, taking deep

sobbing breaths to calm himself down before the others could call him a pathetic

blubbering baby.

"Now dere dere petie. Godiva knows it hurts……..But you a good boy Remy, a strong

boy. Hush now,…..de doctor will be along soon 'nough." She wrapped him in her arms

and hummed softly.

After another half an hour or so and a bit more drinking and cursing, a loud knock

echoed through the empty flop house.

"Christian,……get de door!" Fagan grunted as he looked over Remy with a frown.

"He ain't lookin' good Fagan." Rose said softly, worry drawn on her painted face. The keeper of children nodded, as he chewed his tobacco then turned to the open door where an inebriated, fat, balding man stood leaning in the door frame, a medical bag in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other.

"Ah,……..Bayard……You son of a bitch!...How you been eghn?" Fagan greeted the drunk doctor with a cheerful, gray toothed smile and a hug.

"Why Fagan, you ol' dog!...And who do we have here ay?... Two enchanting ladies with such grace and elegance it ……it does take my breath away." The doctor staggered threw the door and into the room, patting his wet face and head with a handkerchief from his blue suit jacket. His eyes lit up as he looked upon the two scantily clad prostitutes and licked his lips. In exchange the ladies rolled their eyes in annoyance and clicked and hissed.

"Stop yer drooling and get busy Doc,……dis boy's two steps from death!" Rose demanded. The Doctor huffed and looked offended at Fagan who simply laughed and shrugged as he placed a hand on the man's back guiding him toward the moaning child on the mattress.

"And, I'm certainly obliged to ply my trade and use my finely tuned skill's in the medical profession to relieve this child's pain and deliver him from the jaws of death granting the angel of mercy is on our side,……..however, there is the small matter of my fee." The doctor stopped and turned to Fagan with a polite smile.

"Ah,….well,…..At de moment,……I am…….uh,……not exactly, financially…….able, to……..uh pay you,…..dat is, at dis moment. But, I'll be getting my hands on a little piece of dis score up in Baton Rouge one of my amie's is in on." Fagan leaned in and whispered the last, his eyes lighting up and his eye brows rising.

"Well my old friend, that is certainly fine and well, but I am not seeking monetary compensation for my efforts…..I was instead contemplating the possibility of……a more hands on payment. One that will quench my thurst and offer immediate gratification…..If you catch my meaning." He looked over at Godiva and Rose who where whipping Remy down with a wash cloth. The two women looked up at the men staring at them the same way all men did, like hungry dogs, like greedy, slobbering pigs. They looked at one another and sighed, Godiva shook her head.

"Yhea, alright, whatever!...Look, we'll fuck de both of ya's, just help de boy!" Rose grumbled.

"It would be my pleasure Madam!" The large man stumbled forward, handing his bottle of bourbon over to Fagan who took a healthy swallow then handed it to Godiva.

Remy opened his eyes and looked up with blurred vision at the faces staring down at him, wheezing breath coming out threw quivering lips, the pain in his side, in his head, his whole body becoming numb and cold from loss of blood.

"My, my………what on earth happened here?...egh?...you been fighting boy?" The doctor examined him with cold, shaky hands, peering at him threw broken glasses. He was gentler then Fagan but his inebriation made him slightly clumsy, putting a little too much pressure on sensitive bruises and lacerations'.

"De boy smells like whiskey?" The doctor glanced at Fagan who explained why. "Well I am afraid that while I am a firm believer my self in the healing power of Alcohol,…it does thin the blood and would have done better in my belly den his." He chuckled and resumed his examination.

"Dis gonna need stitches!...Gonna leave a scare too!...But don'cha worry young man cause ladies,…love…..scares." He smirked and raised his eyebrows again. He then opened his medical bag and got to work putting in the stitches while the others held him down. The boys were scattered around the room, some on the stares watching, others peering over the women's shoulders only to be shooed away. Remy was shaking and sweating as tears ran down his face, his thin body trembling as the doctor roughly stitched him up. Finally the deed was done and Remy let out a whimper as Godiva kissed his forehead.

"Now, my dears,……shell we?" The doctor licked his lips in anticipation, no longer focused on his patient. "Is there a more private place for us to engage in our fornication Monsieur Fagan?" He wrapped Rose in his arm, eyes directed at her breasts.

"Yhea, up stares, but dis be de only mattress." Fagan grunted as he gestured toward the barely conscious boy on the bed

"Leave de baby where he is, don' need no bed tah fuck,…lets go." They headed for the stares, the boys moving out of the way. Godiva grabbed her purse to fallow when she felt a small hand tug at her plastic skirt.

"G…..div..a" Remy whispered, eyes almost shut. She sat next to him, pushing the stray hair from his face.

"Yhea baby,……You be okay Remy." She spoke softly to him as a mother might have, one that he had never known.

"In moi heaven,……….you be de most,tres jolie Ange of dem all!" His voice was soft and sleepy, the pain numbing and his eyes heavy with exhaustion. Godiva looked down at the small boy and whipped a tear from her eye. She kissed his forehead and took off her furry coat, using it to blanket his shivering form.

"Thank ya chil'!...Now rest,…..you be okay come mornin'!" She smiled and stood up, fallowing the others up stares, prepared to pay for his medical expenses the best way she knew how. Remy watched her go and closed his weary eyes vowing that one day he would return the favorer to the working girl that was his guardian angel.

The end for now.


End file.
